Wednesday, 6 May 2009

Shivering, hassling, spilling

Bit of this
Tiny shivering leaves, ebbing and flowing waves of sound, the wind has infused the old beech tree by the gate house with energy and woken her up.

The fledging dove arcs it's wings over mother hassling for food.

An adult guards each escape though the hedge that surrounds the community garden. They have done their listening and contained their muscles in a confined space. Now they pore out, like spilt hundreds and thousands, their bright clothes mingling with the dazzling flower beds as they race about. The whole scene seems to me a fairy tale world in miniature.
Bit of that
The color of the wind

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